


His Amazing Grace

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Coma, Complete, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Bonds, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Rusame Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Russia and America were finally supposed to be heroes, saving the earth from destruction. It wasn't supposed to end up like this, Alfred comatose and dying.Thanks to my mom for being so encouraging on this story.





	1. Chapter 1

The tanned young man lay still beneath soft cotton covers, like a finely carved statue. Only a slight raising of shallow breaths betrayed life within. His golden blonde hair was brushed with slow and gentle strokes. Satisfied, Ivan set the comb to the side and adjusted the covers. Violet eyes analyzed the prone sleeping figure, before returning attention to the IV bag. It was full enough for now. The IV tube seemed alright.

“I hope you don't mind me talking to you Alfred, If I can call you by your first name now. Before you fell asleep, you seemed to enjoy speaking with me.” Ivan said softly.

Alfred said nothing, mostly still.

He looked around the dim living room, looking for something new to do. There wasn't a trace of dust left to destroy, and every cat hair was long banished. The grandfather clock was tuned, and the strings on the balalaika that hung off the wall were tight.

Damn. It was nice to leave work every day, but there was only smothering nothingness at home. No. No. He couldn't be negative. He was Alfred's caretaker for now, his probable death witness. He volunteered for this duty, and he had to stay upbeat. Ivan had promised a very stressed out Canada that he'd babysit America while he was... sleeping. Yes, sleeping.

The beige haired Russian forced himself to put on a weary smile, clapping his hands together. Talking to Alfred had been the only thing killing Ivan's latent depression this week. “Let's watch TV today. I'm sure we can find something together.”

There was no response.

Lounging on the dated blue couch next to the adjustable hospital bed, Ivan grabbed the remote controls off Alfred's chest, their unofficial new storage spot. As Ivan slowly flicked through channels, fragmented news reports went by.

“... been ten days since meteor Calvin struck Washington DC, and the fires are still raging. The joint effort between the Americans and Russians to stop the killer space rock with obsolete ICBMs was mostly successful, but at what...”

Click.

“... the Russian president vowed last evening at a live press conference, he would make a memorial for all the lives lost from the impact of the meteor fragment...”

Click.

“... death count of over 520,000 Americans so far, not including foreign diplomats and tourists. The fiery destruction is still...”

Click.

“So much news about you today, Alfred. Maybe we can just read together.” Ivan said loudly, shuddering at the horrible images on the small television screen. The former location of the American white house was just a blackened pit in the earth as gas fires gave the demolished capitol city an orange glow.

He turned the TV off, setting the remote back on Alfred's chest. “Did I tell you? I got a new book from the store on my way home. It's called 'taming the winds', It's about a lost young man that finds love with a handsome hunter in Siberia. Cheesy I know, but it's short and cheap. Something to laugh at. I figured we could read it together, because we're friends now.”

Ever more silence from his bundled up companion.

“You're... such a good listener Alfred.” Ivan sighed, gently squeezing a limp hand. Hiding crushing resignation at no response, he let go and picked up the flimsy novel. Clearing his throat, Ivan began to read.


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan had never realized how annoying Canada was. Not until he agreed to care for the vegetative America fourteen days ago. Ivan had only agreed out of initial guilt, since the younger nation collapsed in Ivan's home. What kind of host was he to forcibly remove a comatose ally? It had absolutely nothing to do with crushing boredom and loneliness. Ivan was perfectly fine, really.

Even so, a call almost everyday was just so unnecessary. It wasn't like Alfred was going anywhere. “No changes, Matvey.” Ivan answered lazily, skipping polite greetings when he saw who was calling.

“Did you do all the tests? The eye tests and his pulse and...”

“Everything is the same.” Ivan interrupted him sharply, looking at his nails as he talked. There had been no response to any stimuli, even a flashlight in the eyes.

“His weight, is it stabilizing yet?” Canada asked yet again.

“Not at all.” Ivan reported dully.

“Did you try the junk food? He eats piles of that stuff all the time. I thought he was being unhealthy to spite Arthur, but his metabolism is... remarkable.” The other went on. Ivan grunted in response, barely listening.

“Oh, work is on the other line. I must go, but I will inform you of any changes, Matvey.” Ivan lied, hanging up. Whew, that was done. Looking at Alfred, Ivan frowned. The very professional clip board in Ivan's hands was telling. Thoroughly tracked vitals were neatly written on lined paper. Weight loss was frighteningly fast and nothing seemed to slow it, even the heavy vanilla milkshakes that were tube fed in small intervals. Extremely familiar with famine, Ivan knew there was only one outcome.

America was dying. The result wasn't surprising, considering the USA capitol was utterly destroyed with over one million casualties so far. All life on earth would be destroyed if it wasn't for both super powers using every long range nuclear missile they had. A lot of the meteor broke apart and landed in the pacific ocean. America dying still seemed like a high price for such freedom.

Sitting on the couch next to his long term guest, Ivan set the clip board down. “Can you believe one little piece did so much damage to you?” he cooed, ruffling his patient's hair. “You're a hero, you know that? All those centuries of bragging about it, and now you really are a hero. We saved the entire world, together.”

There was no response from the blond beneath his hand. Ivan sighed, fixing the strands he had pushed out of place. Dabbing drool away with a soft rag, the Russian gave up for the night. Climbing upstairs to his own bedroom, Ivan glanced back. “Good night Alfred.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was day twenty of the coma watch, and Alfred was finally stabilizing. It only took a milkshake every single day, and with two extra liquid dinners. Promised a new blender and generous financial compensation, Ivan pressed ahead with his aggressive weight gain meals. He hadn't seen such gross misuse of sour cream since the week before Lent.

Ivan whistled a merry tune as he returned with Alfred's newly cleaned bedpan. Lifting up a now thin nation with ease, the bedpan was slid under, fitting neatly into its small compartment. Ivan was about to set the frail American down, when he paused.

Through the thick wool sweater, a brief shudder was felt. The rag doll of a nation hadn't shown any movement since he first collapsed on the floor. Ivan stilled, certain he was imagining things. There was stillness, then another shiver. With baited breath, Ivan made the younger man comfortable in his wool covers and sweater.

Dashing to the kitchen, Ivan returned with an ice cube. Hopeful for the first time since this terrible coma watching business began, He approached the deathly still Alfred. The ice was pressed against that lean tan neck. A shiver, more animated than before, rippled through the blond's body. A positive test of improvement!

Carelessly tossing the ice cube aside, Ivan grinned. He rubbed his hands together until they were hot from friction. Pressing a warm palm gently against Alfred's face, Ivan then withdrew the touch. The hand was held a hair's distance away. The slightest pressure brushed his palm.

Ivan struggled to contain his excitement as Alfred's weakened form curled slowly towards his warm touch. It was a barely perceptible change, the tiniest shift in weight. Still, it was something. It was hope of recovery.

With renewed purpose, the Russian was more aggressive with America's recovery than ever before. Ivan had never previously considered physical contact as therapy at all. It was very unprofessional from a hygienic viewpoint. The thought of Alfred being up and functional was worth pushing Ivan out of his comfort zone.

After being cleaned, Alfred was frequently petted and spoken to. The oddity of the situation was lessened if Ivan pretended his patient was a cat. Alfred the cat, just like Koshka, and Sunshine, and Moskva... the hundreds of fantastic felines Ivan had loved, with dozens of names. The cruel talons of time had done away with his latest pair of cats. The loss had been crushing, despite his pets passing away from old age in luxury. He honestly still wasn't over them being gone, after three months of mourning.

The fall sharply changed to bitter winter, and Ivan became every more persistent in his routine. The nights were colder and longer. He started taking longer lunch breaks, only so he could come home and check up on his nearly permanent guest. Knowing how much closer to life the now pale American was, missing any developments couldn't be risked.

Home on lunch break, Ivan hastily shucked off his fur coat before getting down to business. IV drip was good, while bedpan was empty. Alfred was a little on the chilly side but his pulse was strong. All very standard and boring. The helpless blonde seemed to unconsciously curl towards Ivan's petting and general body heat. Definitely time for the electric blanket.

Ivan was dutifully finishing off another page of statistics on his clip board. Picking up a sound recorder, he began to make personal notes for his own research collection. “Day 45 of patient's coma. Pulse is picking up, along with eye movement in his sleep. A very promising diagnosis. Tummy rubs are notably more effective than tickling at creating favourable responses. Will continue testing both methods.”

Turning off the recorder, it was set aside. Poor Alfred was done up in braids, his once short hair now shaggy and slightly darker. Ivan had kept him clean shaven otherwise, preserving those boyish charms. Crushing boredom had driven Alfred's caretaker to braiding his hair constantly. One could only knit so much while watching trash television.

Poor American kitten. Perhaps, Ivan should not have been so mean. Freeing that puppy soft hair from its many tiny braids, Ivan ran thick fingers through his patient's hair. After almost a month of doing such intimate gestures, he enjoyed doing such things. It was just like petting a big unresponsive creature at a zoo. Clearly it was getting results, Alfred's body pressing weakly into the motions.

Suddenly Alfred burst into a coughing fit, an incredibly rare event. Ivan swept the nation to his shoulder, patting him on the back like a great big baby. It grew increasingly worse, Alfred unconsciously clutching at air with veined hands in his stubborn slumber.

Forcing down toxic panic, Ivan impulsively ignored the medical training drilled into him over the phone. Canada wasn't here. He didn't know what Alfred needed. Matthew didn't spend four hours of every day feeding and keeping the American moron company. Ivan needed to act, now.

“One breath at a time, Alfred. You can't rush living.” Ivan soothed, gently removing the feeding tube with slow tugs. Immune to gore and atrocities, the stoic Russian was not bothered by the long tube as it was extracted. Maybe this was crazy, or improper, but the younger nation was clearly struggling with it inside him.

The violent coughing evened out to harsh breathing as Alfred was cradled gently in Ivan's arms. “Little Alfred, all better now... You just needed to breathe better.” the purple eyed Slav cooed, rubbing America's chest with a warm hand through the thick Disney sweater.

Cradled in Ivan's arms as he sat on the couch, Alfred's breathing evened out. “See? Calm. Safe. Now we can watch Peoples Court and laugh at the lawsuits.” A convenient drool rag at hand, Ivan went to dab the inevitable mess awaiting in his lap. He didn't have to worry about getting voided on, yet. Alfred's bowel movements went in predictable cycles like his feeding times.

Worries about how to feed Alfred without his tube vanished. Ivan shuttered his breath, frozen on the spot. The nation in his arms leaned heavily into him, eyelids twitching, almost fluttering. With slow breath, long lashed eye lids popped open.

Fierce summer blue eyes roamed blindly, before settling on Ivan's face. The Russian was ready to freak out. Up to this point, medical care had been like tending to a really needy plant. After a month and a half in a coma caused by a space rock, Alfred was awake and staring at him.

What was Ivan supposed to do now?


	4. Chapter 4

“So as you can see, Matvey, your brother is doing wonderfully.” Ivan said, hiding sheer annoyance. After having a demurely mute Alfred to himself for three days, the pale Russian begrudgingly called Canada about the good news.

Alfred didn't seem all too concerned, curled possessively on Ivan's lap. There was no other way to describe it, as the rail thin American nestled against him. He barely let his caretaker so much as shake hands before imposing himself on the taller nation. It was quietly enjoyable.

“Has he said anything? Is he remembering anything?” Canada asked for the fifth time, at least once everyday. Ivan shook his head as he absently carded fingers through Alfred's hair. It was true, the super power nation was especially useless, if affectionate. Much like an overgrown cat.

“So... How many languages does he know?” Ivan asked, bemused as Alfred arched into his petting.

“He loved languages, had a library of books for them. There was English, Flemish, German, Spanish, Italian... maybe Catalonian. Danish, Swedish, Navajo, braille, Morse Code... Outside of engineering, it was his biggest passion. I'm sure I'm missing a few more.” the wheaten blonde informed as he politely sipped his tea.

“That will make things more difficult, when he does start speaking.” Ivan replied, not pointing out how far off Matthew really was. Alfred had also known French, Russian, bits of Old Slavic, and Ukrainian. Maybe even Belorussian, though Ivan never bothered to learn his sister's tongues. They were similar enough to his own language that he deemed them useless.

“I'm sure we can find a technology or a guy to help with that, eh.” Matthew suggested, his lavender eyes briefly meeting with Ivan's royal violet. The Canadian looked away submissively, like all the others. Coward.

“We?” Ivan prompted raising a brow.

“We agreed he was staying here until he was better. I'm very busy dealing with the fallout from Washington, since I volunteered medical staff for the occasion.” Canada continued softly.

Ivan bit his tongue, holding back a volley of Russian curses. They had loosely discussed the idea of Alfred staying here, should he survive at all. Technically he was better already. Damn North Americans always assuming things. Maybe Ivan wanted his life back. Maybe he wanted some time to himself. The Russian's life was perfectly enriched without having to watch a crippled nation, if somewhat lonely.

“Should he stay, which we have to discuss, I have overhead expenses.” Ivan began, attempting subtle intimidation. Any nation ever knew the incentives required to push Russia into action were obscene. Maybe the stubborn polar nation would finally stop calling Ivan every day. That would be nice.

“Of course.” Canada answered, not ruffled by the prospect of paying him yet more money. It really was sad how much better the American and Canadian dollar were in comparison to Ivan's weakened rouble. It made bribery threats truly ineffective.

A content Alfred jerked out of his sleepy daze, grabbing at Ivan's sweater. Bright blue eyes were wide with need, desperate to say something. “What is it Alfred? Do you need to poop again? Are you thirsty?” Ivan cooed in Russian, propping up the weakened nation so he sat properly.

Alfred pointed at his mouth, making a crude eating notion. It was fast becoming the signal for food, water, and teeth brushing. On one occasion, it had been a indicator for having cheek burns from biting electrical wires. Not the brain damaged American's smartest moment.

Glancing at one of three wrist watches, Ivan stood while still carrying Alfred. “My apologies Matvey, but the conversation will have to move to the kitchen. It is lunch time.” he explained. Holding on tightly, Alfred grinned happily. The kitchen was his favourite place in the whole tiny world right now.

Pulling a container of cheese laden goulash out of the fridge, Ivan began doling out a massive serving. “That's a lot of food.” Canada observed while nursing his tea from the table. Alfred wiggled excitedly in his chair, eyes following every scoop of sauce and noodles. “He is the most responsive with food. He loves it very much.” Ivan replied.

Minutes later, a reheated plate of food was placed in front of Alfred. He licked his lips, ready to dive into the heaping meal. Ivan grabbed him by the hair, yanking back that eager jaw. “No, bad manners!” Ivan corrected sharply, tone cold. He simply wouldn't tolerate such sloppy habits. Men were not dogs, regardless of head trauma.

Alfred whimpered, but didn't try the manoeuvre again. Rewarded with one of Ivan's real smiles, a fork was loaded up with vegetables and saucy noodles. Alfred let himself be fed a few cheesy bites, humming in pleased manner. Ivan's little American was so cute when he was behaved. It was a relief just see anything other than a comatose man in his living room.

Entirely forgetting about his guest, Ivan was enamoured in his task. Seeing Alfred giggle and eat with such joy made him feel warm somehow. Unexpectedly, A bony hand brushed his, as if asking permission for the fork.

Ivan relented his control on the tool, correcting Alfred's primitive grip during the transfer. It would be interesting to see of he did more than drop it this time. With a concentrated furrowing of brows, Alfred loaded up the shaking fork. It took three attempts, but he did it.

The Russian was quietly proud of this much. It was so much better than when he first woke up.

Carefully, Alfred brought the food to Ivan's lips. Surprised by the sweet gesture, the ash blonde accepted the food. It was absolutely the most fattening yet delicious thing he recalled eating in years. Normally he tasted Alfred's meals to ensure they weren't unpleasant. Never had he eaten them himself.

“Very good.” Ivan purred, looking into Alfred's so very blue eyes. For a moment, Ivan felt lost in them, heart fluttering. He cupped Alfred's cheek softly, smiling as his patient blushed. They touched noses, they were so close. Ivan could smell the cheese on Alfred's breath, but didn't care. Alfred was just so cute today.

Matthew cleared his throat, making Ivan jump a little. A little dizzy from the intensity of the moment, he willed his hammering heart to calm down. That was strange, must be another heart condition. Ivan's health issues never ceased to surprise him.

“But as you can see, he's getting much better. Alfred was too weak to sit up on the first day. I used all of my vacation days, but I'm hoping by the end of next week he'll be toilet trained again. The bedpan is not a solution now, since he's so active.” Ivan said, soaking in the look of pure adoration Alfred was giving him. It was nice to know his care was so appreciated.

Matthew looked at Alfred, concern betraying his freckled features. “Toilet training?” he asked timidly.

“Yes. He has no control over his bowels right now. It's why I feed him at the same 2 times every day. I'll know when he has to... relieve himself.” Ivan clarified, feeding Alfred some more heaping scoops of lunch. The little excited noises were so endearing. He had honestly never seen a man so excited over cheese covered noddles.

For some reason Ivan didn't care to investigate, Canada looked really uncomfortable. “Well. I'm glad to see Alfie doing well. And you're sure he doesn't remember anything?” he asked, clearly ready to flee.

“I can't confirm that either way. He's non-verbal right now. He's not interested in anything but food. Survival instincts, I would imagine.” Ivan replied coolly. Not that he really cared, enjoying having a big pet in the house. The biggest cuddliest pet, actually.

“I'll be off then. Thank you for everything you've done, Russia. All of Europe wants to talk to you, you know. You both saved everyone's lives.” Matthew said, already at the door.

Europe. A land of hypocritical liars and cheats. Ivan scoffed but held his tongue. He didn't have a nice thing to say about anyone in that shit hole. After mentally composing himself, Russia replied “I am far too busy with work and Alfred's care for partying.”

Matthew left soon after the absurd exchange of polite niceties all westerners insisted on. Slamming the door shut, Ivan turned to Alfred whom was licking the empty plate clean. “Can you believe it? Second time ever to my home and he does not bring a gift. Again. How rude!”

Alfred cocked his head at Ivan's words, setting the plate aside. He weakly attempted to stand, trying to follow his caretaker's movements.

“Come little flower. We will do bathroom time, then we can watch my afternoon show. I do not know if Vera's evil twin is going to crash the wedding yet. Such silly lives, right Alfred?” Ivan prattled on in Russian, picking Alfred up bridal style.

Folding up neatly in Ivan's strong grip, the American happily cuddled his shoulder. If burdened with this for a time, it didn't seem so bad to the Russian at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Ivan was dreading everything about this plane ride. This trip was going to be a disaster. The reason why was sitting next to him in coach seats, eyes glued to the window as the world passed below. Alfred finally starting speaking around a month ago, roughly when his toilet training finished up. The words were mostly in Russian, thankfully.

The very first word had been on a cold night, winter refusing to withdraw icy talons from the countryside.

Ivan had a rough day at work, not nearly as talkative. Having to discuss lesser matters with Mongolia always did that to him. He was hardly shaken by the brief twenty minute meeting with his former slave master. Memories were always the death of him though. Every time he was forced to work under the yoke of the Golden Horde flickered by like a nightmarish film show for the rest of the day.

After barely touching his dinner, Ivan retreated to his bedroom, exhausted. He just needed a nap from time to time, to rest his weary bones. A mute Alfred, after failing to instigate play several times, gave up and resumed reading. Ivan hoped he was reading anyway. His favourite patient always seemed to go for the flashy modern magazines the ash blonde hoarded in his private library. Ivan couldn't bear to throw away literature, since his people were so arson prone when restless.

In the dark of his bedroom, Ivan let his dreams envelop him. Tonight's adventure was vivid, sharp and real. Ivan was alone, young and vulnerable. He was in the stables, shovelling waste without dinner, yet again. He shivered, wishing he had warm fur coats like before. Had it already been over a century trapped in this hellish servitude? It felt like a millennia.

“Boy! Stable boy! Where's my horse!?” a voice thundered, distorted by drink. No, master was intoxicated again. The hulking form of a luxurious fur draped Mongolia appeared, somehow, the way people did in dreams.

“Where's my horse!” he demanded, burning eyes piercing through Ivan's soul. “Master, you took it out earlier. You never brought it back.” Ivan stammered, wilting with fear. Little hands had a white knuckle grip on his worn grey tunic. Please leave, the Russian thought fiercely. Please please leave me alone.

“You lost him, didn't you? Worthless slave!” Mongolia hissed, alcohol drifting off his every word. “No!” Ivan squeaked, trying to flee yet again. His escape was ended with a back handed slap powerful enough to draw blood. Head swimming from the impact, Ivan tottered backward and fell on his butt.

A few seconds later he was locked in an arm bar. Flipped on his whip scarred stomach, the young nation screamed. He could feel his ragged trousers being pulled down. Russian winter air was sharp and unforgiving on his skin.

“Shut up! I'm going to teach you a lesson worthless slave!” his captor heaved, the rustling of fabric behind Ivan. He screamed again, feeling the fat head of a painfully familiar cock prodding from behind. “No, no, no, please I'll do anything else! Please!” Ivan begged tearfully, struggling frantically to wriggle free.

There was a low chuckle, as the engorged member lined up with his rear entrance. Freshly dried blood flaked off the sensitive region, only hours old. The pressure increased sharply. With a pleasured groan, the massive figure trapping Ivan pushed inside.

Russia woke up with a scream of desperation. It shook his soul, breaking him down to nothing. Clutching at plush bed covers in the dark, he hyperventilated from panic. The bedroom door opened with a squeal of dry hinges. A ribbon of light cut through the dark. A familiar silhouette looked in.

Ivan tried to murmur soothing phrases to Alfred, but lacked the reasoning to do so. It came out as dry stuttered sobbing. The mute American rushed over on sock muffled steps, stopping at the edge of the king size bed. He had never been given permission to be here before. After a moment, the freckled nation vaulted onto the mattress and tackled Ivan with hugs.

Small kisses on Ivan's brow, mimicked from his own gestures, did not help the taller nation. Alfred huffed, his only verbalization up to this point, and hugged Ivan tighter. Petting Ivan's messy locks, the American made the strangest series of sounds. It was like a frog trying to croak, but somehow failing.

After two more attempts, distinguishable patterns emerged. “N-na Sad.” Alfred murmured, determined to cuddle Ivan's miseries away. “What?” the Russian sniffled, clinging back in return. “N-na Sad. Na Sad.” The words were nonsense, yet encouraging. Then it all clicked.

No sad. Alfred was trying to comfort him with friendly gestures, and now mutilated words. “No sad?” Ivan echoed back, hoping it wasn't wishful thinking. Alfred nodded enthusiastically, modifying his own butchered words. “No sad.” he repeated, giving Ivan a dozen little kisses.

Alfred truly cared for him, beyond the animal level. Russia hadn't been tended to in this matter for almost a century. Giving into the affections, Ivan finally allowed himself to cry. The tears were salty and heavy, and it was a relief to let down his barriers without ridicule. Sweet precious Alfred. Little Fedya.

From that night forward, Alfred seemed to think he could share a bed with Ivan. Russia was surprised at how little this irritated him. The body heat was nice, and nightmares seemed to vanish. It was definitely worth the blanket stealing and snoring.

Words sprouted up overnight, becoming less precious and more routine. Alfred's grammar was still atrocious after a month, but he had become a nonstop noise machine. Paired with boundless curiosity and energy, It was exhausting to watch his every move.

Ivan had given up for the day after having Alfred run off at the airport twice. His patient now had a cheap dog leash clipped on at the belt, with Ivan holding the handle. People were giving looks, even as Alfred spouted words like an over stimulated toddler. Russia didn't care, as long Alfred was in sight range. The older nation's heart was ready to fall out from stress during the airport crisis.

“Cloud. Vanya, there cloud!” Alfred observed in Russian, bouncing in his seat. “Yes, clouds in the sky.” Ivan replied, not really paying attention. “More cloud! Hill! Mountain! Look, mountain!” “Sky! Blue!” “Lady!” “Dress Lady.” “Salty food!” Largely tuning these fragmented bits out, Ivan would only reply occasionally. “Stewardess, not dress lady.” “That is a pretzel, Fedya.”

This two day trip in Germany was inevitable though. Leaving his charge alone for two days was not a possibility. The mentally deficient super power would only panic and trash the place, like when Ivan had been three hours late leaving work. It had been like Ivan died instead of being slightly tardy. Furthermore, Canada cooked up some lame excuse as to why he couldn't watch his own brother. Again.

International agencies from six countries were demanding answers, and Ivan was formally ordered by his boss to comply. Germany himself was the most persistent. Why are you missing meetings? Where is America? Did he die from the meteor impact? These stupid questions, and so much more.

Today would be a test of patience.


	6. Chapter 6

Germany's house was more ornate than Ivan remembered. There was typical folk-art flowers and birds in everything. The already ridiculous painted mail box had an entire scene on one side. Ivan didn't know whether to laugh at it or be intensely jealous of the skill level involved. Wood working used to be his thing a few centuries ago.

Spring was earlier than expected in Germany. Brave tufts of green grass poked through a thawing white landscape. Alfred kept trying to eat the grass, mistaking it for food. Ivan had the same reaction during his first spring, born in the dead of winter. Or rather, waking up for the first time. Ukraine had such a difficult time breaking him of eating grass.

“Green green green!” Alfred babbled, straining that dog leash for all it was worth. “No! Follow me!” Ivan hissed, dragging him along with great difficulty. Finally reaching the front door, Alfred rang the doorbell at least six times. Grinning, he looked to Ivan for approval.

The Russian gave him a chaste forehead kiss as a reward, cupping that recently shaved jawline softly. Annoying any Germanic state at all was definitely a worthwhile pursuit. As Alfred glowed from the attention, Ivan pressed the doorbell five more times.

A frenzy of barking became closer to the door. Next was a very German string of shouts. The barking mostly dropped off, the tapping and scraping of dog claws on tile. The door finally opened, Germany wearing a wood carving smock with tools in the front pocket. Four dogs danced around excitedly behind him,wagging tails hard. The hair shedding levels were intense.

“Welcome to my home Mr. Russia.” the strict man greeted dryly, gesturing inside. One the door was closed, Ivan shook hands and gave him a customary small gift. In this case it was a small box of chocolates from the airport. Germany's electric blue gaze turned to America.

“He is... alive.” the strict blond muttered in reverence.

“Yes. Perhaps we can discuss this over tea.” Ivan suggested, weary after five hours of having to watch Alfred's every move. Flopping onto a large blue couch one room over, Ivan melted into the cushions. The flurry of dogs sniffed and licked at Alfred. The freckled American ignored them totally, staring hard at Germany.

When Germany returned with a tray of bread and cheese, Alfred stood suddenly. It took every muscle Ivan had to stop his patient from tackling their host. “Lood.” Alfred stated with purpose, determined to get closer. “Fedya, no! Behave!” Ivan appealed in Russian, losing his grip on the leash.

Sensing incoming collision, Germany had enough mind to set the cheese tray on the top of a bookshelf. The leash was ripped from Russia's hand as America lunged. Germany was tackled to the ground, arms up defensively.

“Loodvig!” Alfred repeated, touching and poking the severe blond's face. “I apologize, Mr. Germany. He is not aware of his own strength.” Ivan said politely, not bothering get up. It was funny watching one of his former enemies getting plowed over.

“He is not speaking normally.” the man observed, unable to escape being pinned.

“No. The meteor impact scrambled his brain. He was in a coma for 45 days. He was non-verbal until a month ago.” Ivan informed, heaving himself on his feet again. Grabbing a slice of cheese, Ivan whistled and waved it around.

Alfred, as well as all four dogs, ran over instantly. “Cheese!” the honey blond cheered, grabbing it and popping it in his mouth. The dogs seemed disappointed. “He remembers you, apparently.” Ivan mentioned offhandedly, sulking.

Alfred still didn't recognize Ivan at all from before the coma. It was nice to have a docile simple America, but Ivan desperately missed the competition and infantile dares. There was simply no one else intellectually equal to him. It made life even more boring than before.

“My name is Ludwig.” The German said to Alfred, slowly in English.

“Hello Ludwig. Tanks. Tanks!” Alfred rambled, running off with a handful of cheese. The dogs followed the new source of food loyally. Ivan was about to give chase, when his host replied “Search for him later, Mr. Russia. My house is dog and... Italy proof. He will come to no harm. We have many things to discuss.”

Shrugging, Ivan sat back down. He wasn't going to pay for damages when Alfred's super strength and curiosity got the better of him. The sheer number of toilet repairs from the simple American trying to find the water source was ludicrous.

After an hour of mind numbing chatter about trade and policy change, Germany finally stood with his now signed stack of forms. “We will go find America now. I am certain my brother is doing something foolish and messy somewhere.”

Relieved to do anything else other than work, Ivan agreed. They combed over the house slowly. It was as old as Ivan's wooden mansion, but only a quarter of the size. Piece of cheese in hand, the Russian called out in his native tongue. “Sunflower! I have a tasty treat!”

Germany looked at him quizzically, not understanding a thing. Hardly any other countries embraced Ivan's perfect rolling language, so it was not surprising. As they went to the second floor, the treat finally worked. Germany paled as Alfred strolled out of an office, covered in ink smears. “Cheese!” he sang, waiting to be fed the snack this time. Ivan did so, a smile spreading as his brain damaged companion truly enjoyed himself. That mysterious fluttering of the heart came and went, as it did so often these days.

“You are so cute today! Did you destroy his office?” Ivan cooed in Russian, unable to help himself. “Yes Vanya!” Alfred gushed, hugging Ivan in return. Meanwhile, Germany looked in a state of shock. Between the completely broken door knob and a mess of doodled on legal paper, the office truly was a mess. Interestingly, some rather complex math seemed to be scrawled on a few papers. It was nice to know the American wasn't actually retarded. Maybe he still remembered chess. Ivan was itching for a good game.

“Gil. Gil said play.” Alfred offered apologetically, for once sensing the mood of their host.

“GILBERT!” Germany roared, followed by what sounded like foreign curses. The European nation stomping off, Ivan followed the flustered man out of sheer boredom. The trio ended up on the ground floor, inside a large garage. Modern punk rock band posters covered most of the wall, as the very same genre of music was blasted through a retro stereo system. A massive Panzer tank sat inert as a familiar albino welded on top of it.

Much German yelling later, the former nation of Prussia turned off the welding rod and flipped up his black protection mask. He immediately gave Ivan the middle finger, before hopping off the tank. Russia glared, suppressing the urge to kill. Turning down the music to tolerable volume, conversation resumed in English.

“Hello west. Come to get a dose of me, the most awesome?” the obnoxious twit bragged, beaming.

“No. You told a... compromised America to break into my office! There is ink everywhere!” Ludwig complained.

“He was bugging me, so I told him to go draw something. He's probably really good at drawing. Feliciano is.” Prussia scoffed, not bothered by the trouble he stirred. “You owe me 200 euro. I knew he was alive.” The crimson eyed German continued, cackling joyfully with victory.

“I accepted no bets. Now go clean up my office!” the orderly sibling demanded.

“I'll do it later. I'm busy being awesome.” Prussia deflected, climbing back on the tank again. Germany rolled his eyes but gave up. Ivan could sympathize, unable to break the stubborn fallen nation for decades as the Soviet Union.

“That aside, I am happy Mr. America is alive. Many are still under the impression he died when his capitol was destroyed.” Germany continued speaking with Ivan, walking out of the garage. The second all three nations left the space, the door locked shut behind them. Screaming punk rock and welding noises resumed.

“I am curious how you are involved with America's condition. You both get along very well now.” the strict blond asked, returning to where the now destroyed cheese tray was.

“Canada did not tell you?” Ivan said with thinly veiled dismay.

After a long pause, Germany pulled himself from thought. “Canada. Right. What did he not say?”

“I have been Fedya's... Alfred's caretaker since he went into a coma. I have been working very hard to improve his condition.” the Russian explained with a frown. He had endured bedpans, diapers, rage fits, and not sleeping for days, all for nothing. Not even the smallest mention of his charity, or kindness. Canada was going to die! Well maybe not die, since he had four friends with nuclear weapons. Still, Ivan was going to scare the shit out of him.

“Well you have done a wonderful job. Feli is coming over in a few hours for dinner. We would be pleased if you both attended. I am sure he would love to see America.” Germany replied, ignoring his guest's hurt tone. He was even more emotionally dense than pre-coma Alfred.

A dinner party with Italy, the brunet sweetheart of Europe. Ivan hated the bubbly peninsula nation the least. Russia, dare he admit it, even liked the absent minded dolt. It was hard to hate something so dull and endearing. “Yes, I believe we will come. We did not bring formal attire.”

With a dismissal wave of hands, Ludwig replied “No need. Come as you are.” Well, that settled that.

Later, Ivan lay on the bed at the cheap hotel. Nervous energy skittered across his senses. Alfred, previously distracted by a pile of napkins, appeared at his side. “This is the first dinner party I have been to in a very long time.” the pale Russian admitted, colourless from more than his natural state for once.

“No scared.” Alfred soothed, rustling Ivan's shaggy hair. “You're right. I'm thinking about this too much. It's just a dinner with Germany's crew. I don't even hate two of them very much.” the older nation rambled, letting his usual walls down.

Alfred looked into his eyes, blushing softly. A shade between the sea and the sky, those eyes were a colour Ivan couldn't help but drown in. Pulling each other close on the shared queen size bed, they gently squeezed and touched. It was in delicate warm moments like these that Ivan swore he was melting.

Giggling, Alfred started lacing his jaw with tiny kisses. Ivan purred, more content beast than man. Impulsively, he tickled Alfred's ribs purely to hear more laughing. It was a unique sound that lifted his spirits every time it was uttered. “No fair!” the younger nation squeaked, at Ivan's mercy.

After a minute of torture, Ivan stopped his attacks. Alfred lay sprawled beneath him, huffing and red from laughing. The sight made the Russian feel too much. It was like his chest was about to overflow with fuzzy feelings. It was most the pleasant illness he ever suffered.

“Dinner fun. No scared.” Alfred commented, in his primitive way. Ivan hummed and sagged onto the bed. “I'm never scared. I'm strong and powerful.” he playfully argued, closing his eyes. “Nap?” Ivan heard, feeling the other nestle close. It was a relief to know he wasn't the only one that was tired. “Yes, just a short one. Lots of people for you to meet tonight.” he replied, wrapping an arm around his precious Alfred.

With a pleased sigh, both relaxed into slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

The dinner was a mistake. Prussia, being a modernized rebel without a cause, had probably told absolutely every other nation that Alfred was alive. It was shocking how many people had shown up for dinner when Ivan crossed Germany's ornately carved threshold.

Spain was by the door, staring sleepily at a photo on the wall. Russia greeted him curtly with a grunt, receiving the same in response. This standard exchange brightened when the Spaniard laid eyes on a clueless Alfred.

“Hola Alfred! You are alive! I thought this was Germany's sad attempt to invite us over for dinner!” the tanned nation crowed, grabbing Alfred in a half hug. The American looked spooked, glancing at Ivan nervously. Then the worst happened, Spain gave him several kisses.

Jealousy possessed Ivan, making reason fall away. Spain, more emotionally intelligent than most, paled at the Russian's chilling snarl. “Ah, I have... things in another room to attend to.” he lied poorly, scampering away.

Southern Italy, ever a gentlemen, strolled in as Spain was fleeing. Loudly and colourfully, like all Italians ever, he nearly yelled “Holy fucking shit! America is alive! Feli! Are you seeing this shit!?” Ivan groaned, knowing what was to follow. Alfred winced and hid behind Russia's broad shouldered form.

France, Northern Italy, Austria, Hungary, and Switzerland piled into the hall simultaneously. The second Alfred peeked out from behind his muscular guard, France came forward.

“We are so happy you are alive!” the Frenchman greeted, somehow flirtatious like everything else that fell out of his mouth. Alfred cringed and looked away, visible traces of fear in his face. When France pressed closer still for cheek kisses, Ivan reacted purely out of instinct.

The punch landed France square in the jaw, making him fall backwards. “No crowding! You'll scare him!” Ivan threatened darkly.

“It is bleeding, my god it hurts!” France wailed dramatically. What a baby. That punch was nothing compared to what he used to exchange with America in the cold war.

The other nations took heed, stepping back. Very wise of them.

When Ivan and Alfred were seated comfortably, everyone in attendance clustered around them in Germany's living room. Ivan carefully recalled select peices of what happened, keeping out that sacred conversation before Alfred collapsed before his eyes. The promise of real friendship to the very end. A sweet dream Ivan longed to taste but was never given. Fate was as cruel at the winter winds it seemed.

“So... He fell into a coma and you took care of him.” Austria repeated with raised brow.

“I merely provided a service after being paid.” Ivan replied curtly. It was a service he provided richly, and was still doing so. It was one of the longer unofficial jobs he had ever done, and easily the best.

“I do not believe you would provide aid to a enemy, Even if you both saved the world.” Switzerland argued, arms crossed tersely.

“If I cared about anything you said, that would hurt my feelings.” Ivan retorted.

Alfred, shyly clutching to Ivan's side this entire time, sat up. With a hard stare, he looked down the isolationist nation. “Stop. Ivan good. Ivan friend. You big mean.” he argued in his own way. Silently Ivan was proud as ever. This was the most coherent and longest sentence his charge had uttered all day.

The entire room paused at the guest of honour's first words.

“That. Is. Adorable. He sounds like a toddler. Now I want to feed him treats.” Hungary squealed. Alfred perked up at the mention, smiling.

“He sounds messed up.” South Italy commented crudely.

Ivan sighed but said nothing. Just as he was about to light a cigarette, Feliciano came into the room. “No smoking, if you would, Mr. Russia. I am helping Luddie quit.” the happy brunet stated, somehow as cute as ever in the process. “Very well.” Ivan grumbled, putting it back in the pack.

“Hello Mr. America! You look so charming tonight!” Northern Italy cheered. Alfred didn't respond to the name at all, but he greatly enjoyed the attention. “Feli!” Alfred responded eagerly, clearly remembering him. Given quick cheek kisses in greeting, He wilfully allowed himself to be towed along.

“Dinner is ready!” Germany called from afar. As the room vacated to the siren lure of food, France sulked. “Italy is allowed, because he is precious.” Ivan answered that silent question between them in french. “No, no, I understand. He has that special charm. It is irresistible, you just want to possess him and spoil him.” France sighed, seeming more mature for a few seconds.

Ivan wondered on previous occasions if he and Italy ever had a chance. Probably not. They didn't share a notable history, interests or climatology. Alfred prior to his coma was probably the closest chance Russia would ever have for friendship. Friendship, but never love. Ivan was too old and scarred for such foolish fancies now. Friendship Ivan was ready for, it was something he could definitely handle these days.

Shaking off these long denied wishes, the Slav headed off to the dining room. Poor Alfred was going to need defence from all those prying eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Mashed potatoes, grilled steaks, coleslaw, and at least three side dishes. Beyond this was additional food brought by party crashing nations. The endless questions and comments, most of which Alfred was incapable of answering, faded away at the sight. Having hurriedly shoved another table at the end, there was barely enough room for everyone sit.

Germany stood with a glass of amber liquid, clearing his throat. “To America's health!” he announced simply. As he sat, there was cheers and whoops of agreement. It was all rather sad and ironic, considering Alfred didn't even know what his own country was. Any memories after the 1960's seemed to largely be destroyed. He didn't know what Russia was, in any capacity.

Alfred was a relatively clean eater tonight, enjoying his Spanish rice and mashed potatoes side by side. For a moment in time, Ivan wondered if this was what family dinners were like. Closing his eyes, the pale man pretended and dreamed it was. A soft touch on his leg brought him back to reality.

His American companion looked at him with concern. Ivan smiled back. Assured, his patient resumed eating like a machine. “So... You two are close.” Hungary started from across the table. Not bothering to look up and acknowledge her, Ivan nodded. “I am his primary caretaker. It is a side effect of my occupation.”

“Yeah, but you two seem really close.” she repeated stupidly.

“That is a consequence of sitting in chairs next to each other.” Ivan replied dryly.

“Really really close.” Hungary repeated, yet again. “Are you guys fucking or not?” Southern Italy interrupted sharply from further down the table.

The mere thought of it was so absurd, Ivan burst into laughter. He couldn't help it, roaring with mirth. “You... you honestly think I would defile my patient? That I even want sex? Is sex all you ever think about? Your humour is priceless Miss Hungary!”

Hungary frowned, murmuring “Ruining my fun.”

“Very good dinner Mr. Germany. So few make me laugh!” Ivan said, toasting the flustered German at the head of the table.

“You're welcome?” he replied uncertainly, glancing at Hungary as she push around coleslaw on her plate.

Ivan was more than aware of the awkwardness he caused, but didn't care to fix it. It was much like trying to neatly cut a cake with a battle axe. The harder you tried to fix it, the more damage you caused. Soon natural conversation ebbed back to life around him. A river of joy trying to push past the cold stone known as Ivan Braginsky.

Imposed quiet aside, the dinner was quite nice. It had been a long time since Ivan dined with so many people. A loud knocking sounded on Germany's door. “I will get it!” Northern Italy volunteered, singing as he headed out of the room.

Alfred fastened a steely grip on Ivan's leg as a familiar voice spoke in the hall. “The weather is terrible!” the grating voice of England complained.

“Mr. England! It is so nice to see you here! America has been especially cute tonight! He's so hug friendly now!” Italy greeted in chipper manner, bouncy as never. It was true. Alfred was quite the professional cuddler, and Ivan had no complaints.

“The only thing that git is good for credit card debt. Where is he?”

Ivan's temper simmered at hearing this. Alfred was his dearest patient and the proud Russian would have none of this slander at his charge's expense. The grip on his leg grew tighter still as Alfred pressed fearfully against him, trying to become Ivan's sweater.

“What a spread! And there's my colony. How are you, you great big wanker?” England greeted roughly as he entered the room with a rare non-scowl.

Alfred started shaking as his former master approached, eyes wide and frozen with obvious fear.

“I really wouldn't touch him like this. He's a b-” Ivan was cut off by a sharp scream as Alfred bit England's nearing hand. “biter... as you can see.” Ivan finished, continuing to eat his lovely dinner. Letting go, the freckled fled off to places unknown. Sighing, Ivan ignored England's pained screaming. Folding up the still unused cloth napkin neatly, Ivan set his cutlery aside.

“This dinner was lovely, but I must be off to find my patient.” Ivan said politely to the group as a whole. Walking around the crowded dinner table, Ivan made a point of stomping on England's bloody hand on the way out. God that felt good.

After a few minutes, Alfred was discovered in the bathtub upstairs. He loved bubble baths. “Fedya, little sunshine of my day... What you did was not very nice.” Ivan soothed, not keen on actually correcting the distraught nation. England deserved everything coming to him.

“He bad man. Civil war. Pain. Leave me alone. Bad man.” Alfred uttered weakly, reaching for Ivan imploringly. The older man obliged happily, snuggling Alfred in the dry tub. It was then that the cute blond started legitimately started crying for the first time since he woke up. The sight was more devastating than Ivan feared.

It was like Ivan was being stabbed repeatedly in the chest on an emotional level, watching the piteous display. “No tears. No tears. I'm here, okay? I'm here, and he isn't going to hurt you ever again. I'll kill him first.” Ivan damn near begged, dabbing those evil tears away. His heart couldn't stand this kind of torture. After a few messy sniffles, Alfred cracked a smile.

“Vanya. My Vanya.” he nearly whispered, hugging back.

Lost for words, Ivan make a strange small sound instead. His brain was malfunctioning again, clogged with fuzzy warmth.

“Vanya mine. Care about Vanya.” Alfred purred, pressing as close as physics would comfortably allow. Overwhelmed, Ivan keened and peppered him with kisses. “Fedya, I care about you too. I care very much. I want the best for you. I want to keep you safe.” He heard himself blurt out, swept away by the moment. The affection starved Russian couldn't get enough touching, determined to never let go.

So close it was suffocating, the two couldn't stop kissing. Faces, necks, most more innocent places were plenty fine. It was all so sweet and innocent, making Ivan lose his mind from the joy of it. “Better. Protect?” Alfred murmured after an unknown amount of time, pleased and rosy.

“I'll always protect you best I can, my freckled little angel.” Ivan replied, meaning every syllable. Alfred gave a look that could melt a heart at twenty paces, disarming the Russian completely.

“Let's go downstairs and say good bye. I think you've met enough people today.” he gently commanded, trying to avoid cuddles before he forgot how to function again. Alfred nodded, mumbling “Home.” Guiding his patient downstairs by the hand, Ivan made a beeline for the kitchen. It was Alfred's feeding time after all.

The party was in full swing downstairs, glasses of beer and flutes of wine making the rounds. The dinner was long over, and half destroyed desserts were being picked over on the stone kitchen counter. Italy, Austria, and Hungary were eating chocolate torte while discussing their vacation plans.

Hungary, always a bold spirit, attempted more small talk despite being shut down earlier. “What are you doing for vacation Mr. Russia?”

The distant day dream of going skiing for the day came to mind. “If I had vacations, I would go skiing. Maybe at a resort. Sipping hot chocolate by a fire.” with Alfred. Of course, Ivan didn't voice the last part. That troublesome woman already had strange thoughts in her head without fuel to feed it.

“Oh you must come visit sometime. I have lovely ski resorts.” Hungary replied, as expected.

“Hot chocolate is nice.” Italy said.

“Chocolate sweet. Love chocolate.” Alfred remarked, eyeing the torte wistfully

“Aren't you so sweet? Have a slice.” Hungary insisted, stealing Austria's mostly full plate and handing it to the eternally hungry American. Ivan cleared his throat and warned “If you want your dessert back, you're going to have to be –”

The rich treat was gone in seconds, not a crumb spared. It was the cleanest destruction of a torte Ivan had ever witnessed. Alfred was really behaving himself tonight. “That dessert had a quick execution, yes?” Ivan joked, faint smile fading when no one laughed.

Frowning, the Russian gave up on this social encounter. “Come. Let's find you a big snack.” Ivan ordered in his native language, gesturing to the leftovers conquering the counter. The conversation moved on as if he never existed. Such was life.

After Alfred destroyed all the mashed potatoes, it was time to flee the scene. They were almost free, coats on by the door. Then Germany spotted them. Shit. “Leaving so soon?” the strict German asked, heading over like a homing missile.

“It has been a long day, and I must meet with several officials tomorrow.” Ivan lied. He really didn't. He just wanted to get away from work for a few hours and bring Alfred to the butterfly gardens. The excitable American would lose his mind there, and the flowers were lovely.

“I can watch him for a short time.” Germany volunteered.

Ivan instantly wanted to kill him for suggesting such a thing. Just skin that German alive with the broken edge of his own beer stein. No one was going to take away his favourite patient. Face blank, Ivan somehow kept his cool. “I already have arrangements, but the offer is appreciated.”

“Okay. Safe travels Mr. Russia.” the other man bid good bye, already fading back to the party.

Finally, the pair escaped.


	9. Chapter 9

A long table of humans, lit pale by harsh fluorescent bulbs. Their faces cast shadows long, like night carved beasts. They all stared at Ivan from across the small conference room. Him in his lone metal chair, watching him, dissecting him. Soulless, they were all soulless.

“We know how upset you get when you become attached to things.” The greying woman on the far right began. It was his psychiatrist of eighteen years, Mrs. Rakovoskaya. “Your latest side project was becoming rather distracting, pulling considerable time and resources from your work.”

Monsters. Coming in the night, grabbing, taking with wanton.

Another older man, Ivan's mailman for decades, was in full military dress. He spoke with a low friendly tone, one that Ivan now knew was an illusion. “We know you. We care about you, Ivan. Mr. Jones was never yours to care for. He is legal property of the USA, and he had to be returned eventually.”

Ivan's plastic polite smile never moved, his heart hammered. It was difficult to remember to blink, to breathe, to listen. He looked at all of them, dark eyes. Dark eyes, and snakes under human skin, waiting to bite him, to betray him. “I understand. Perhaps I was too emotionally invested.” Ivan lied, voice like honey.

Claw out their faces. Burn the evil.

“I am glad you are taking this so well. We thought you might do something regrettable.” the Russian president himself praised. Eyes of a wolf, a beast within a man. His own boss had deceived him, he was an animal. Ivan despised wolves.

“I love my peoples, my president, to much to do silly things.” Ivan purred, cocking his head. Did they feel his rage, burning in his chest? Did they know his thoughts? Did they hear the screaming inside his skull, like never ending thunder?

“I am sorry to interrupt this conference, but I work to attend to. Unless there is more pressing matters, of course.” Ivan spoke politely, mechanically. A machine, a mere metal skeleton containing the purest of anger.

“No problem. See you tomorrow Mr. Braginsky.” the board dismissed.

Ivan didn't remember driving home after. He didn't remember anything. Nothing registered until he was home, somehow standing in his kitchen. It had been twelve hours. Memories went by, like crashing waves. There was still half eaten dinner on a plate, having sat for twelve hours. It was salmon under a blanket, the many layers falling apart and decomposing.

They had been eating dinner together, giggling at a simple inside joke. “Want bite?” Alfred offered, so innocent and gentle. Ivan had accepted. Simple moments of his heart. Moments gone by.

His own government. Men he trained personally decades before. They had busted in and stolen his Fedya. Ivan stood to fight, to claw and bite, to kill for his ray of sunshine. A sharp pain peppered his body as men opened fire on him with rifles. Bullets were supposed to hurt more than this, he recalled dimly.

The bullets were bulky with little needles. Bullets with needles. Not bullets. Darts. It was so difficult to think for some reason. Vision swam as he looked up. Alfred. Alfred was being pulled out of his chair. He hadn't finished eating his dinner. Good little nations always finished their dinner.

“VANYA! HELP ME! VANYA!” Alfred screamed, his own body spotted with drugged darts. Every vowel seemed far too long, stretching out like Ivan's tranquilized mind. “Fedya... I'll... save... you...” Ivan replied thickly, tongue heavy. Limbs heavy. Everything heavy. Taking a step forward, Ivan fell like dead lumber on his side. The collision with the wood floor was strangely absent of sensation. Letting out a long breath, sleep pulled the struggling Russian under.

When Ivan woke next, It was morning. Alfred was long gone. Relentless late spring snow had completely buried and tracks worth following.

Pulled back to the present, Ivan just stared at Alfred's abandoned dinner. Ivan was not a liar or a cheat. He was going to save Alfred. He was going to be the hero a second time. Alfred was his patient, his dearest friend, his hard earned responsibility. The rude council was wrong. He wasn't attached or obsessed. Alfred was simply his now. No one ever took anything of Ivan's away. Ever.

Humming the soviet union national anthem out of ill-formed habit, the ash blond headed upstairs. Entering their bedroom, Ivan sucked in a breath. Their bedroom, where it used to be Ivan alone for over a century. Their bedroom, scattered with Alfred's laundry like Ivan's cheeks had been peppered with kisses. In the torturous silence that was now, moving the evidence of Alfred's existence seemed blasphemous.

Stepping delicately around the laundry, Ivan walked over to a hidden wall panel. Prying open the fake wood cover, a small keypad was revealed. Punching in the code 'FOSTER', a plain wall swung open next to the book shelf.

Walking into the new space, he was greeted by soft electric lighting as it flickered to life. It was funny how often he had been forcefully 'inspected', and this haven had never been discovered. They always suspected the bookcase full of books from his pro-communist days, but never the unassuming walls around it.

Makarov pistols, RPG launchers, AK-47 rifles, ADS underwater rifles, KRISS Vector rifles, grenades, swords, bladed whips, sledge hammers, land mine kits, bombs of all kinds with activation set up from his own number... This was Ivan's personal armoury. The guns were hung with loving care on hand carved stands, bright colours pressed into the wood grain. A proud mural of the two headed Romanov eagle from days of heraldry covered one wall. Above the stored land mine kits and bombs, pictures hung. Photos and oil paintings of all the people he cared for were lovingly displayed in gold leaf frames.

So many of them had been dead for so long. Peter the great, Prince Alexander Nevsky, writer Alexander Pushkin, too many classical composers to favour just one. An unframed photo of President Vladmir Putin was put off to the side in a drawer with a few others, to be considered as an addition.

Among those on the wall, only three were nation born like Ivan Braginsky. The first was a family painting of Belarus, Ukraine, and Russia in casual sweaters Ukraine had knitted. If it wasn't for the antiquity of the piece, it could pass as a very formal family photo from the mall.

The second was a scratchy drawing of young Crimea before he died under the crushing brutality of Mongolia. Ivan had every right to believe the peninsula bound boy had been his close cousin or brother. They had always looked alike in royal court, inseparable.

The third, was a new addition, not even a month old. It was Alfred sleeping in fuzzy pyjamas, smiling softly about something. Possibly a dream. Ivan took the picture with a camera the moment he realized how happy the silly fool made him. The second Ivan wanted his patient as real friend, the younger nation was already considered for the honour.

The picture was messy, silly even. It was innocence and joy. With Alfred's intense head trauma, this goofy picture was a perfect representation of the new America, if he represented anything at all. Warm reminiscing fell away to cruel reality.

They had taken his sunshine. His friend. Ivan's and Ivan's alone, not to be shared. People were going to die, scream, bleed, and feel his anger.

Ivan packed a Vector rifle, three 9 mm pistols, water, trail mix, heat detection cameras, and a dozen burner phones into a hockey bag. A few articles of street clothes and extra boxers padded all the metal things. But what to wear to the rescue of his ally? It took only a breath to decide. Putting on his best modern day military suit, Ivan preened vainly in a full length mirror. All his favourite medals, including both hero of the peoples soviet era pins, displayed proudly on his broad chest.

Ready to go, Ivan called the last nation to so much as touch his freckled angel. Due to the reasonable hour, Germany answered quickly. “Hallo?”

“Hello, Mr. Germany. A pleasant evening to you.” Ivan greeted in toxic sweet voice.

“Mr. Russia. Oh. So... nice to hear from you so soon.” Germany stammered, recognizing that false sincerity as a precursor to mass murder.

“After Fedya and I left the party, did anyone say anything? Anything that might catch work attention?” Ivan asked, pleased Germany remembered his moods so well.

“I said nothing at all Mr. Russia, but many others were happy to share the new of Mr. America's recovery. I hope you had a fun time while you visited.” Germany answered hurriedly, intent on hanging up as soon as possible.

Gazing at Alfred's picture, Ivan mentally drifted. “What would you do, Mr. Germany?”

“I don't understand.” the other answered stiffly.

“If something of yours was taken away. What would you do?” Ivan asked softly, a wrinkle of doubt in his mind.

“I would retrieve it, Mr. Russia.” Germany replied. Ivan let out a breath of relief. He was doing the right thing after all. For a moment, he'd had the absurdity to doubt himself. Parting with polite niceties, the ash blond smiled as he ended the call.

“I'm coming to save you Fedya. I said I would be your primary caretaker, and I will be. No one else will do.” he murmured, touching the picture with gloved hands. Walking out of the secret room, the light turned off. Nothing on this earth would stop him now.


	10. Chapter 10

It had taken twenty three days to arrive at his objective. The path here had been bloody, to say the least. After sneaking onto a plane with a stolen ID, Ivan landed in a random American state. After the blackened crater called Washington DC was made a memorial park, other cities shared the burden of running the country.

The honour seemed to bounce between Houston in Texas, Los Angeles in California, and New York in New York. The defence organizations seemed to favour Texas with it's liberal weapons laws. Los Angeles was rapidly eating up many other departments, growing wild off the fame. This left New York at the best place to find Alfred.

The overgrown metropolis was a place of wall street, art, and high education. Just as Moscow was Ivan's 'brain' with over 500 universities, New York was Alfred's improvised 'brain'. Or so Ivan hoped. If the American government was anything like a wounded animal, it would withdraw it's most precious assets close to the new president's presence. One of the most heavily guarded humans in the world for all anyone knew.

This hunch paid off brilliantly. After nineteen days of fruitlessly searching the underside of the internet and generally terrorizing government officials over the phone, Ivan found his precious sunflower. Alfred was being unwillingly detained in upstate New York, near the catskills. It was a quiet region that was known for hidden and occasionally, opulent houses. Amidst the greenery and domestic setting, the president's family resided.

Only five blocks from the international figure, was an low key “recovery and nurture” centre. It was a nut house, an asylum, by another other stripe. It was simply a cage for the unstable gilded with money. As Ivan staked the place out in a stolen minivan, he casually drank unregulated vodka obtained from a grocery store parking lot.

He was going to need the liquid courage, it seemed.

The haze of his anger, his invalidation fuelled fire, would occasionally dim. All the people he had waterboarded, skinned, and then killed... What Ivan was doing might be considered bad. Remembering all the times Ivan had been betrayed by his own government. Decapitated. Starved. Burned. Cut open. No, these people were going to do the same thing to innocent brain damaged Alfred.

Setting aside the bottle, Ivan wiped his mouth with the back of his sweater sleeve. He was right this time. In this instance, he was not cold stuffy Russia. He was Ivan Braginsky, a man with a goal. He was a hero, fighting the corruption to rescue his companion.

Sufficiently excited, Ivan put on his most pleased smile and poured over blueprints of the asylum again. It was an effectively structured prison of sorts with layers of rooms and thick walls. He was going to make a door with force. It was honestly much easier.

Pulling out of the parking lot, the ash blond headed for a nearby military training grounds. It took ramming the van through a fence, shooting up a lobby, and stealing a tank, but everything seemed on track again.

Having stolen an armoured vehicle before while drunk, Ivan was mostly able to handle the controls of the aging Abrams tank. It was even loaded for the next shot, which was nice. The young soldier in training had been so scared as he emerged, he even dropped the keys on the spot. So convenient!

Ivan knew he only had ten minutes tops to haul this metal beast to the asylum. The military grounds was already losing it's mind, sirens blaring for all to hear. Running over parked cars as he went, the Russian hummed his old state anthem out of habit. He might as well have a bit of fun on the way there.

Dozens of crushed vehicles later, he was back at the asylum. Due to the late hour, this region of the neighbourhood was still not evacuating yet. The rod iron metal fence folded away like paper under the tank's fierce weight and momentum.

An Abrams tank typically required a driver, an ammunition loader, a coaxial gun operator, and a commander to keep the others in sync. Understandably, a buzzed Russian man with a barely functioning grasp of the controls was having a hard time of things. Why was there so many buttons?

After fumbling about with levers and such for five minutes, Ivan figured out how to aim the main gun. Pointing that fearsome chamber at the doors of the mental care centre, the violet eyed Slav grinned.

The firing of the gun was amazing, making the whole tank rattle the tiniest amount. Even dulled, the sound was undeniable. It was like sitting outside in a storm, the crack of thunder right beside you. This tank was like being next to the wrath of god as it stomped life out of existence. The experience always made Ivan a little hard, but now was not the time for his fancies. He was busy doing hero stuff, just like Alfred.

Knowing how much attention was being garnered, the bulky Russian hopped out of the tank and sprinted to his task. Ugh, so much chaffing. Not being actively shot at yet, Ivan could hear sirens homing in fast. Grenades were liberally tossed around as diversions, deafening as they exploded behind him with showers of busted concrete and dirt.

Slipping inside the crater of a former building entrance, Ivan set to work. The lights flickered as nurses screamed orders, shaken from their sleepy night shifts. In the chaos, patients in blue asylum clothing were herded from rooms at the front. Ivan clued in, ducking into a bathroom with a stolen outfit.

Emerging dressed the same as the others, he was quickly grabbed by a nurse. “Come now, no time for dawdling!” the male orderly urged, looking ready to burst from stress. “Okay.” Ivan agreed, wondering how drunk he was after all. Looking back with regret, Ivan's discarded bag of grenades left view as he was guided deeper in the building.

“Do you know where my sunflower is?” Ivan asked, genuinely curious.

“It's in the common room, with the others. Keep quiet now, okay? It's time for the quiet game.” the young man whispered between barked orders echoing down the halls.

“My sunshine.” Ivan murmured, hope bubbling in his chest. Dark beasts of anger within seemed to settle and purr at the thought of being so close. The dim hum of a generator came to life as lighting stabilized. Ivan was shoved into a simple room with two couches, and a TV.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the confused pale nation to take in his surroundings. There was six other blue clad people here, being calmed by two frazzled looking women in white dresses. Most of the people in blue were on the couches, oblivious. Two were balled up in opposing corners, shaking with anxiety.

One was blond, and rail thin. Peering closer, Ivan crouched and whispered “Fedya?”

The curled up figure unfurled hesitantly, tearful blue eyes locking with royal purple. Ivan's heart started to pound as a heady blush coloured his face. This was real. It wasn't a dream or a hallucination. Pinching himself only confirmed this was real.

Fluttering with emotions, Ivan sat beside the object of his affections. The touches were delicate and feathery as they exchanged silent reverence. Finally Alfred wiped away his tears, smiling so wide it showed teeth. He only uttered one word, but it was enough. It was laced with joy and relief, a story in two syllables.

“Vanya!”

It was a simple word, a name. It was happiness, a confession of friendship. It was only then in that splendid moment, that all Ivan's toxic pain and hatred vanished. Like ice yielding to the spring, Ivan's cold world melted to one of peace.

He was home again.


	11. Chapter 11

Two hours after the tank heist, the local military were still freaking out. The authorities were now combing through asylum patients, suspecting the driver to be hiding in plain sight. Honestly Ivan didn't care. There was tearful kisses and admissions of shared loneliness. The pair was set aside in a padded observation room the colour of buttermilk as chaos spilled out around them. It was the only way Alfred would move without screaming and trying to bite people.

Russia could hear the arguing going on outside, despite the accommodations. “You can't question Mr. Jones. He's a troubled individual. It's not healthy for him, and It's unsafe for you.” a young woman protested.

“We have every right. There's a dangerous suspect on the loose.” another responded.

“Please present a warrant to my superiors before you make such requests again.” a third person reasoned, delivering the ultimatum in a cool tone.

For a time, there was stifling silence. Ivan killed the hollow emptiness with song and recantations of memories. Alfred cuddled in his lap possessively, so close they nearly shared a heart beat. For a time, they were almost one person, happy and giggling between strings of chaste innocent kisses. It was in this manner that Ivan finally slept for the first time in three days, painful yearnings finally fulfilled.

Ivan woke slowly from his nap on the soft floor, light shining in his eyes. Alfred was snuggled at his side, summer blue eyes bright and loving. That questionable parking lot vodka was starting to make it's rounds on the Russian's body, developing one hell of a headache.

“Hello there, awake are we?” a stranger in a green sweater vest greeted, several feet away. Ivan flinched visibly, ready to battle to the death. This was it, the moment they were going to drag him back to Moscow. It wasn't over until he decided, dammit.

“Now... You're not under arrest. Just breathe. I'm Doctor Filcher.” the stranger soothed, surprisingly effective.

Ivan's tense shoulders relaxed and drooped slightly, though the death grip around Alfred stayed strong. The freckled blonde held on just as desperately, moulded to his side. Right where he belonged. Russia returned the basic pleasantries in formal English. “Hello, doctor.”

“It seems you're not registered as one of our clients.”

“No, I am visiting.” Ivan replied tightly, thick accent leaking through.

“Friend. Best friends. My Vanya.” Alfred babbled in Russian, an absolutely adorable angel. That fuzzy feeling made Ivan so warm in a place so sterile.

“What is he saying?” the human asked.

“It is Russian. He is stating his affections for me.”

The sweater vest stranger raised his brows, then smiled. “Perhaps we can get a translator over soon. Get this sorted out.”

“That would be advised. His English is not functional.” Ivan snipped impatiently.

Alfred looked up at hearing the sharp tone, then glared at the doctor. He hissed and bared his teeth. The human backed away quickly, apparently experienced with this reaction. “No! Use words! You are much smarter than this, my little bird.” Russia corrected quickly in his native tongue. Alfred's features fell as he sulked, obeying in resignation. Impulsively, Ivan nuzzled and tickled him. A frown was never destined for such a cute face.

A brilliant idea came to mind. “We both know how this is going to go. I'll be dragged out of here, and you'll be just another doctor.” Ivan began, unable to stop a manic grin. “Instead, I'll tell you everything. My story, My precious Fedya's story. I'll quote you as a key figure in my recovery. You'll be famous. All you have to do is listen, and be my character witness at trial.”

The scheming Russian could see the gears turning in this doctor's demeanour. He was considering the offer, with little cajoling and encouragement. Humans were so easy to bribe, be it money or information.

In no time at all, Ivan was refreshed from a hot shower and a plate of food. Mid meal, he noticed his companion looking onward, still sitting on the floor like an animal. Ivan pulled his chair out slightly, than patted the open lap. Alfred took the invitation eagerly, crawling into his touch.

“I'm very disappointed his training lapsed so much in my absence. It took a long time to make him use chairs and toilets like a big nation.” Ivan complained, beginning to feed the golden blond. Despite the dish not having nearly calories to hold mass on the boy, Alfred was eager to have anything. Making little squeals of delight with each bite, the fallen super power was visibly sad when the food ran out.

“A big cheesecake, or something equally unhealthy. Bring me this and I will tell you everything.” Ivan promised, pleased when an orderly headed off to fulfill his wishes.

Alfred was happily gnawing on a small wheel of cheese minutes later. Relieved his companion was getting enough calories to stay alive, much of Ivan's building tension dissipated. After a short wait, a police translator with two cops arrived.

Looking to the four people across the table, Ivan was pleased they changed rooms. It was hard to take anything seriously in a place of foam walls. Turning on the archaic tape recorder, one of the cops nodded at him to begin. “I am Ivan Braginsky, representative of Russian Federation, and this is my confession. My story begins...”

The more the ash blond spoke, the more company he seemed to acquire. The one doctor became three, then five. They whispered in hushed tones whenever Ivan took water breaks, writing and comparing notes constantly. It was all children watching an interesting aquarium, and Ivan was the fish.

Towards the end of his long winded story, Ivan was pestered with questions. The small army of psychologists and the two cops were never sated.

“Why was it so important that you retrieve Mr. Jones at all?” one lady doctor asked, pen at the ready.

Ivan faltered from his usually confident drone, eyes going wide with panic. His reasoning skills always short circuited whenever he thought too deeply about his centuries long life of isolation. Words fell of out him quickly, years of emptiness even with a full house. Years of nothing. “I won't be alone again. I won't. You take my sunshine away again, and I'll come back. I'll kill a hundred people if I have to. I won't be alone anymore.”

Breathing getting ragged, Ivan felt Alfred ruffle his hair. “Mine.” Alfred whispered, content to stay balled up in his caretaker's arms forever. The elder nation sighed and buried his face in the nape of Alfred's neck. Breathing in his scent, memorizing it.

“According to this report I was sent, you've been to prison before. Many times.” one cop noted.

“Don't send me to isolation. They always send me to isolation.” Ivan answered quickly, still upset.

“You acknowledge you destroyed 54 cars with a stolen armoured vehicle?”

“Yes.”

“You acknowledge you killed twelve people on this personal quest of yours?”

“Yes I killed them, it was a mission. People die on missions. I was only doing good, I was finding my kidnapped friend. My only friend. I take friendship very seriously.” Ivan huffed, highly offended.

“You acknowledge what you did was wrong.” another doctor insisted.

“Never. Never. I was a good nation, I did what I was told. It's never good enough for you people. Are you going to send me to the gulags again? Are you going to burn me? I can't trust any of you! Fedya is mine! He's my only! I won't share his hugs with any of you!” Ivan began shouting as fear trickled into his senses. The room was suddenly far too tiny, breathing too hard, too many people. “Don't push me! Don't touch me!”

“I think we're done here officers. You have everything you need, and he's getting uncomfortable.” Dr. Filcher in his stupid sweater vest insisted.

Even after everyone left, it took twenty minutes to resume standard neutrality. It was a little embarrassing to have a lesser panic attack now of all times, but Ivan's reputation was shot anyway. Alfred fed the last of his cheese wheel to Russia, saying “Cheese. Happy for cheese. Vanya happy.”

Sombre, the older male couldn't share this enthusiasm. “I'm going to jail a long time. I didn't... mean to. I went to far. I always go to far.” He mourned openly.

“No. Good Vanya. Mine.” Alfred consoled, in his own strange way.

“A slice of cheese isn't going to solve this. My trial is going to be a mess, and they're going to execute me, again. I won't get to see you anymore. They think I'm crazy, but I'm not. They're all crazy. The humans, they tell me to kill and stand for their principles. When they don't even follow their own rules, yet I get in trouble. I get killed. I get starved. It's all crazy. I've been alive almost one thousand years, and I still don't know what I'm doing. What they're doing.” Ivan rambled, starting to hyperventilate again.

“Hush. Good Vanya. Vanya Hero.” Alfred whispered, shoving cheese in Ivan's mouth. It was in bleak moments that Alfred's intelligence seem brighter than ever. Despite the terrible butchering of Russian grammar, the golden blonde clearly understood the seriousness of what was going on here.

Focusing on those blue eyes that glittered like jewels, Ivan simply enjoyed the snack. He would have to hope for the best, and maybe his country would actually bail him out of prison this time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one, but we're almost done.

From the beginning, the trial was a disaster. Ivan's own state appointed lawyer seemed poorly qualified for such a high profile case. The Russian government absolutely refused to loan their own representative a better one. That hurt the ash blond's feelings just a little.

Somehow, Belarus manipulated her way into being Ivan's character witness. Being told the "best big brother in the whole world is allowed to kill people that don't love him" repelled any sympathy from jury members.

Ivan took a plea bargain the minute he was able, at the beginning of first recess. Sentenced to forty years for first degree manslaughter, extra years were tacked on for stealing the tank and crushing a lot of cars. Still wasn't regretting that part, or any of it.

The sentence meant nothing to a man that had lived almost one thousand years. If this joke of a government followed through, it was just forty years Ivan didn't have to go to work. He could refine his carpentry skills, or learn another instrument. With time like that, Ivan could really optimize his chess skills.

The hard part was going back to the asylum and telling Alfred. Still in his suit from court, Ivan was allowed one more moment alone with his sunflower. They had to pick up his newly prescribed medications anyway. The moody Russian was loathe to admit it, but the anti-psychotic pills Dr. Filcher was giving him were really effective. He didn't have the urge to kill anyone once during the entire shit show that was a trial. Ivan just felt... vaguely irritated. He hadn't been this stable since 1756.

The Russian entered the common room, where others were colouring on printed pictures. Alone in relative terms, Ivan stood before his companion. The medication didn't seem to dull his heart felt affections for Alfred, unlike his other usual sharp emotions. The American looked up, golden locks a mess.

Breath catching at the sight, Ivan shuffled closer in his awkward ankle cuffs. The possessive urge to get closer was still alive and kicking it seemed. “Vanya! Stay. Mine.” Alfred greeted, abandoning his drawing and hugging the older nation tightly.

Arms cuffed, Ivan had to settle for standing cuddles. “The trial did not go well.” he revealed, speaking in apologetic tones. Alfred's eyes went wide as he held on tighter. “No! No! No! My Vanya, Mine! Stay!” he protested in alarm.

Ivan could see the misty emotion in his friend's terrified gaze. Tears, his greatest weakness. “Don't cry little Fedya. You can come visit me if you are very good, and listen to the therapists. Good nations get ice cream, and kisses, remember?” the pale Slav soothed, wishing he was truly alone with his former patient.

Alfred's sniffling stalled as he wiped his eyes clear and put his glasses back on. “Get better.” he began, concentrating hard to solidifying his thoughts. “Smarter. More English. See you. Save. You. Free Vanya.” He continued, gaining steely determination.

The look gave Ivan real hope. It was the same expression Alfred wore when he really wanted the pickles in a jar. He was deathly serious about this. “Big hero. Free Vanya.” the freckled beauty insisted more clearly, like it was a promise.

“Let's go love bird. Time's up.” A cop ordered harshly in English. Hurriedly kissing Alfred on the cheek, Ivan was guided away. He could only hope his blessed sunshine wouldn't do anything regrettable in his absence.


	13. Chapter 13

American prisons weren't completely terrible. The grey concrete walls and bleak architecture were admirably strong in design. The food was alright, and there was plenty of conversation. Manual labour in the burning Arizona sun was boring, to put it lightly. It wasn't all that different from when Ivan was forced to join the Calvary by Peter the Great. So much marching and saddle sores!

After a local Russian gang took an amicable liking to Ivan, he even had friendly comrades. They didn't demand for him to get tattoos, thoroughly impressed by Ivan's extensive scarring and war stories. Obviously, Ivan kept his tales to within the last twenty years.

After stabbing an opposing crime leader dozens of times with his own tooth brush shiv, the Russian gang even gave him a cute little nickname. Moonstruck Ivan. Between Ivan's inability to tan and a moody temper, the term was rather cute. It didn't have the same loving ring to it as Vanya, but the socially starved nation would take what he could get.

Ivan endured all of this with a smile, behaving most of the time. It was the deal he made with the supreme court after all. If he kept to himself, and didn't break out of prison on a whim, he could see his precious Fedya every two weeks for an hour. If he didn't toe the line, they would hide his sunshine away again.

The threat was fruitless to be honest. If they took away the only person to care about him for twenty years, Ivan would just snap all over again. They didn't seem to realize how little he had to hang on to some days. Without creature comforts and a job to look forward to, Alfred's scheduled visits were the only positive structure left.

The visits were usually quiet loving things, a few shared words as they cuddled and watched TV together in the visitors section. Alfred made true on his promise, always improving and gaining coherency with each new sighting.

Another blessed Tuesday came, riding in on the heat wave of high noon. The weather was as fickle as Ivan, cold rain coming down unexpectedly. Minutes from Alfred's arrival, Ivan could feel the thunderstorm potential for this evening.

Guided out to the smoking area, Ivan was flanked by four guards in military grade gear. The warden was apparently not willing to take risks after sending Ivan to Isolation. If men were stupid enough to try and rape the Russian in the public showers, fatalities were going to occur. It was like complaining about being wet in the rain. It just happened naturally.

His blonde angel was waiting for him, perched on the heavily carved metal bench. He looked stunning today in a crisp black suit. Alfred didn't even notice he was getting wet, eyes trained on Ivan lovingly.

“I know I don't talk much. But the speech therapist told me to practice more. I have something important to say, and I don't want to screw it up.” Alfred spoke in stops and starts, nervously chattering in Russian. He always did that when nervous, having picked up the habit from Ivan early after waking up.

Alfred's talking skills had still improved amazingly during the year Ivan was in prison so far.

This was too surreal to Ivan. It was one of the first few meaningful conversations Alfred ever had without relying on gazes or hand gestures. Not a single syllable slipped by as the Russian held America closely. Alfred had never done well with the cold and wet.

“I still don't remember you from before, or old me. They keep forcing me to watch American history reels in therapy. There's tutors too. It's educational, but they clearly ignored bits of history. I don't know what was wrong old me. But I'm not old me. I'm new me. I'm not a genocidal asshole that rigs elections and blames everything on Russia. I'm not that person. I don't know if I ever was.”

Ivan realized Alfred was upset, breathing choppy with emotion. Still Ivan remained silent. His former patient was clearly determined to get weighty topics off his mind.

“I read about all the horrible things the soviets and the Americans said about each other, and when Stalin starved Ukraine to near death, and the world wars, and everyone killing each other. They want me to hate you, even now. But I can't. All I remember is your warmth, and your kisses, and that salmon in a blanket you made in the spring... I refuse to believe the lies they say about you.”

Amidst the honey blond's emotional rant, Ivan's breath hitched. The cold war and the soviet union. They always came back ruin Ivan's life, stalling his progress by making the world doubt him. Ivan's childish corrupted dreams haunted him like a ghost.

“Fedya. I... I am that person.” he said softly, nearly a whisper. It gained volume, but not certainty. “I tested radiation side effects on my own people. I... tried to starve my sister. I mailed you anthrax. I... killed your pets. I am the monster at the end of the story.” The Slav trailed off, waiting for the first blow. He deserved to get hit.

This response seemed to anger the normally demure Alfred. “How dare you! How dare you believe those lies! It was all your bosses telling you to do these things. Did you know Ukraine was starving right away?” The younger nation spat, now grabbing Ivan by the collar of his prison uniform.

“No... I thought it was just errors in wheat exports... But I –”

“Did you specifically test radiation poisoning on minorities from the gulags? Did you even know about it?” Alfred demanded, cutting him off.

“Not at first, but I –”

“Because none of it was your fault.” Alfred insisted gently, like a breeze. So close to Ivan's ear, it was like a kiss. “Your leaders decided these things. They didn't even tell you about stuff until after it happened. You just wanted the best for your people. The government guys were bad, not you.”

Ivan sucked in a sharp breath. “The soviet union was my fault. I wanted to have family, to be loved. I made the system so easy to corrupt. I should've tried harder. I should've pushed for more change. Everything was my fault. It's why they all abandoned me.” The more the ash blond spoke in circles, the more he shattered inside.

“Did I personally kill people in the middle east with drones?” Alfred asked seriously.

Ivan shook his head, replying “There was probably protocols and orders, meetings... People flying the drones...”

“Old me was never made aware of it. Old me couldn't attend because they didn't give him an address. I read the things old me wrote, and he didn't seem happy about it. Clearly I am not my government. Neither are you. We are the people, not the government. I can feel it Vanya, My people's anger at being deceived, their depression, their joy for living. I don't know where they end and Alfred Foster Jones begins.” Alfred pressed on passionately, colour brushing those freckled cheeks.

That energy, that drive to move forward. That burning fire in those beautiful blue eyes. It was what Ivan was charmed by all those centuries ago. Arthur's favourite colony across the ocean, a golden haired child of the sun with eyes of summer. A ticking time waiting to explode when contained. A storm of life that could rip down walls with the strength of his desires.

America. The literal memories were gone, but Ivan's America was back full force. “Kiss me, you idealistic fool.” Ivan whispered, swept up by his emotions. Always carried away by them like a leaf on the stream. It was only a matter of time before he drowned again, but Ivan could at least have this moment.

Alfred happily obliged, his now obvious blush contagious. As the delicate pressing of lips became something more, Ivan felt hot and restless. Between devouring tangles, ragged words spilled between them. “We need to forgive each other about the cold war,” Alfred panted, “But first you have to forgive yourself. You're a good man.”

Ivan pulled Alfred onto his lap as they sank to the dirty gravel below. There wasn't enough kisses, touches, or time. Soon there was a loud tapping on the metal door leading inside. A heavily armed prison guard opened it, looking to the four men posted around. They all nodded. “Five minutes Braginsky.” the humourless public servant warned.

Both super powers giggled, soaked to the bone but hardly chilly. “Where did the hour go?” Ivan whispered, drunk off the bond between them. “I think we spent it all making out in the rain.” Alfred giggled. Ivan's heart fluttered at the sight and sound, feeling like it might fall out.

“Do you want to... continue this path? Because I am fine with us staying good friends.” Ivan asked seriously, unable to tear his gaze away from that blushing face.

“I'm remembering as much as I'm going to remember, and I'm working for the president again. I don't need a caretaker or a babysitter. I'm an adult and I need you Ivan, all of you.” Alfred promised, kissing him fiercely again.

Alfred had his legs wrapped around Ivan now as he held on dear life. The American tasted of mint and cheeseburgers, and the Russian didn't mind one bit. Feeling how hard his precious sunflower was getting in that smart suit, just for Ivan. It made the ancient Slav's heart hammer more than ever.

“Time's up! Lets go!” one guard announced, cutting through the moment like a knife. Alfred coughed awkwardly as he stood, wet clothes making his southern excitement rather pronounced. After a year of public prison showers and no privacy, Ivan's once powerful modesty was dead. He cupped Alfred's arousal gently in his calloused hand, as one would a delicate flower blossom. Alfred let out a small keen, barely audible.

“It's beautiful.” Ivan whispered sweetly, as he was ripped away by guards and shoved in cuffs. “In two weeks.” He bid goodbye, laying the lustful charms on thickly. It was worth it, because Alfred could only stammer and turn scarlet in response.

Later, he grinned stupidly in his featureless cell alone. How much later it really was was unknown. Ivan couldn't tell time anymore from being in isolation for a month now. This still couldn't dampen his spirits. “Did you hear that? He loves me. He didn't say the words, but he loves me! I'm so happy I could sing.” Ivan crowed to the unending silence. A manic giggle of unadulterated joy bled out of him, growing stronger. When it was a full blown wild laugh, a passing guard struck the metal door.

“Shut the fuck up in there!”

“He loves me! He loves me! My Fedya loves me! I wish there was music to dance to!” Ivan raved. It was something real to hold onto, a fact now. Ivan was loved. Knowing this, the isolation wouldn't kill him. He would survive, and thrive.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want an epilogue chapter, say something.

Ivan's lawyer, Sergei Chekin, sat across from Ivan during visitors hours. He was as dangerously incompetent as he was Ukrainian, accent thicker than mayonnaise. Ivan had willingly took a plea bargain at his own case in supreme court, to avoid additional damage from his state appointed defender.

“You have been making much trouble for the prison, Mr. Braginsky." The moustached man noted bitterly in butchered English, patting his taped up suitcase. “My suit case getting very heavy with complaints from the warden.”

“I have been an angel.” Ivan replied, completely uncaring.

“You unionized the prisoners, It is very big problem. They starting fires, taking cafeteria menu hostage. This needs to stop.” the annoying human nagged.

“I see no problem, since the warden has taken my visiting time with Mr. Jones away. I won't stop unionizing the gangs until they burn this place down.” Ivan snarled, temper volatile these days. It had been almost a month since the centre of Ivan's lonely world had been stolen away. Dreams of kissing those petal soft lips still haunted his waking days.

Where was Alfred? It was the only thought worth merit since they got caught mutually masturbating during a visit. Their relationship had evolved immensely in the two years Ivan had been confined. It was now indescribable chemistry Ivan couldn't imagine existing without.

“Visits were revoked the second you two became involved.” the man answered, just as cross. With a long sigh, the balding defence lawyer rubbed his temples and calmed down. “All of prison arrangement is not working. So I have new deal from USA government. You will like.”

The paper was slid over, but stopped halfway across the steel table. The lawyer didn't seem to catch Ivan's expectant gaze, a silent request to move turn the page around and push it closer. Frustrated, Ivan tugged on his wrists, shackled to the filthy dented table. Not quite enough reach. Still the human took no notice.

Breaking the chain with a sharp tug, the ash blonde muttered curses under his breath. Picking up the cover page and flipping it around, he began to read. One of two guards behind him groaned in annoyance. It was the fourth pair of cuffs Ivan had destroyed this month out of boredom or irritation.

Ivan read the summary presented to him, then swallowed thickly. He read it again, beginning to cry in earnest. After a hiccuped breath and three more rereads, Ivan put down the page. He was being transferred to restrictive house arrest with none other than the venerated Alfred F Jones, freshly minted parole officer. Such a clever little sunflower, rescuing him before he spiralled into true insanity

Sergei had failed to reduce Ivan's hefty forty year jail sentence. He embarrassed the ancient nation in court by spelling his own client's name wrong. He didn't even own a tie, like some type of aquatic scum pretending to be a legal representative. But he did do one thing right.

Ivan Braginsky was going to be in permanent house arrest with Alfred for the next forty years. Like they were lovers, husbands even. Christmas, Ded Moroz, New Years, Black Friday, every possible holiday together. Picking out pet kitties over the internet while wearing matching sweaters... It was even possible, given the piss poor nature of American law, that Ivan could work remotely for his government again. Due to loop holes galore, the stupid human before him had accomplished the impossible.

Ivan was being given a 'lifetime' sentence of happiness.


	15. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the journey!

It only took three years of being under house arrest.

It was amusing to the Slavic nation, how quickly his old boss came crawling back. The Russian government was so keen to abandon him in court, when he truly needed them. Avoiding yet more bad press, as if ignoring Ivan would make it go away. After a total of five years locked down in another country, they were practically at the front door. Begging him to resume working, going on about how bureaucracy was lagging worse than ever.

Before, Ivan would work ten hours every day to keep the government from grinding to a halt. Even weekends were surrendered to greasing the rusty cogs of society. “Never doing enough” they whined. “Always avoiding officials.” they complained.

Ivan agreed to return to duty, longing for structure.

Alfred's home and the fifty feet around it were certainly lovely. It was leagues better than the concrete cube of an isolation cell from before. The garden was now a tapestry of flowers. Baby's breath, roses, sunflowers, carnations... every colour and texture could be found. Behind closed doors, Alfred's plain colonial had been transformed. Every room looked like it was ripped out of a magazine. Designer yet homey. Ivan couldn't help himself, bored senseless after only a month.

The sex on demand was great, and it was nice to make home cooked food again. It just wasn't the same as before. Ivan was still trapped. After beautifying the garden and house for a year, there was nothing to pour his immense energy into. Despite learning the violin and saxophone, Ivan's mind ached for purpose. The drudgery of endless office work suddenly seemed tolerable, distracting him constantly.

It was another sunny summer Thursday and the weather was fantastic. Ivan was kneeling on the ground, pulling weeds around a fearsome rose bush. Straw sun hat shielding his eyes, the rest of Ivan was becoming mildly sunburn again. An even tan was a blessing he would never receive.

The lord of tanning himself arrived home, briefcase in hand. Alfred turned almost as dark as Mexico in the summer. A deep tan so scattered with freckles it looked like toasted raisin bread. Possibly one of Ivan's favourite treats.

“Honey, I'm home!” America greeted heartily, putting down his suitcase. How Ivan loved belonging to someone. Being greeted every day with a smile, by someone that loved him forever and ever. Loved him until the sun exploded and killed everyone, then maybe beyond that as well. Definitely beyond that.

Wiping dirt stained hands on faded blue jeans, Russia stood to embrace his lover. “Fedya! I missed you.” he cheered, hugging Alfred and swinging him around. A muffled “Me too.” was heard from the slightly shorter nation, pressed into Ivan's faded shirt.

Released, Alfred tugged him inside after scooping up his suitcase. Closing the front door, the golden blond looked back at Ivan with a grin. He seemed ready to vibrate from excitement. “Babe, I got news! You gotta sit down for it.”

Raising a brow, Ivan sat on the couch with crossed legs and a cool expression. Tenting his fingers, he said “Alright. I am sitting.”

“You've been behaving, and I finally have permission to take you to meetings. You have to be in fifty feet of me at all times, and we have to take an armed flight, and we only get two hours before and after to see anything... But you get to come with me! We can go to the beach, we can have sex on a beach. Wait, no. Work stuff so... Uh, eat ice cream on a beach.” Alfred explained, beginning to ramble.

Ugh. Beaches. Sunburn land with a side of sand in your nether regions. Combined with Ivan's weak swimming capabilities, it was one long exercise in torture. Still, it had been six months since Ivan left the small property. Some exploring would do his addled brain some good. Smirking, Ivan asked “So, next meeting is in Greece? Italy?”

Already imagining it, Ivan smiled. A nice secluded cove where he could read mystery novels and sun bathe with a solid layer of sunblock on. Anywhere not overly humid, or jungle infested... “Nope! Brazil!” Alfred informed, ruining the paradise vision.

“Fuck.” Ivan cursed in Russian.

“Come on. It'll be fun! The weather there is actually nice.” Alfred soothed, taking off the floppy sun hat to tousle Ivan's hair. The older nation grumbled in discontent, slouching.

Two days later, the couple was on a heavily guarded military flight along with a dozen other prisoners. Armed government goons watched their movements like a hawk. 'It'll be fun' Alfred promised. 'The weather will be great.' he preached. Lies. All of it. They weren't even in the capital city yet and Ivan felt like he was in an oven.

“So hot.” The sweaty Russian groaned, limp in his hand cuffed seat.

“Stop being a big baby.” Alfred chided, not really paying attention. He was reading a gun manual, completely enthralled. Despite the memory loss and radically different start to his second life, old pieces of America were trickling back.

He discovered cheeseburgers entirely by accident while Ivan was in prison. That love affair picked up right where it left off, even if he only ate “good” burgers made at home. A year ago, a general invited Alfred to a day of weapons testing. The blond hadn't shut up about it since, hoarding gun magazines. America practised in the backyard on tin cans on the weekends. Ivan's favourite cooking pot was now riddled with more holes than the strainer.

Finally the plane landed. Ivan braced for the relief of a cool breeze. He was bitterly disappointed. Dry unrelenting heat rolled in, an invisible crushing wall. Oh god, it was worse. Ivan's hair was going to be a disgusting frizzy mess.

Ivan was hardly surprised the metropolis of Brasilia was so designer. He remembered the town first being showcased in the 1960's, walls of now retro glass and white washed concrete. Ivan had done the same thing in that decade. Where the dry heat preserved this place, winter had ravaged his own buildings. The freezing waters had cracked away the paint and joy, until only flat grey remained.

He would be jealous, if only Brasilia's climate was not a roasting savannah.

Since wind from a tropical storm had forced the plane to detour hours later, Ivan would have no supervised time to sight see. It was just as well, because the conference room was air conditioned. Staring out the window of their escort car, the Russian looked mindlessly at the landscape streaking by. Dry yellow grass and wild flowers poking out between blocks of refined white concrete buildings.

“It's like we're famous, getting escorted around all the time, huh?” Alfred said in jest, elbowing him in the ribs. Ivan smiled, but he didn't really mean it. His life was still one of a trapped bird, even if the cage was larger. Considering Ivan had killed 19 people and stole a tank on a psychotic break, he was lucky to have this life at all.

Arriving at the conference hall, They barely made it in on time. Crashing through the door, the pair seated themselves at the end of the table. Or rather, they would if there was a seat for Russia to sit in. The silence that permeated the room since they entered simply wouldn't die. Even when Alfred offered his seat, and returned with another. Eyes flickered between the pair, but always settled on Ivan.

Nudging his technical legal guardian, Ivan whispered “Is there food on my face?”

Alfred shook his head, giving him a thumbs up.

Clearing his throat at the head of the oval table, Brazil started pushing the meeting ahead. “We apologize about the broken air conditioner, but these things happen. Germany, you had something to say to...” On and on everyone talked. To think Ivan missed this. Gradually, people starting looking away, listening and taking notes. Just before lunch, the heat of high noon was unbearable.

Uncaring if he gathered unwanted attention, Ivan slid off his sweat ruined shirt. Only his undershirt remained. Many other nations were down to undershirts, having shed their bulky dark blazers and button ups. Canada was resting on his arms four seats over, looking like he was in early heatstroke.

When break came, the entire assembly fled to the cafeteria down stairs for cold drinks. They all avoided eye contact with Ivan. More so than ever before. Finland was one of the last to leave, collecting paper scattered by a bored Denmark.

“Tino.” Ivan greeted, once genuinely on a first name basis with the guy.

“Oh hello Mr. Russia. You are no longer serving prison sentence?” the somewhat friendly Nordic replied.

“No. I work from home. My incompetent government requests I be here. Why are people avoiding me more than normal?” Ivan asked cutting to the topic of interest.

“Oh, they have not seen you without a sweater and scarf before.” Finland explained simply.

“How would that be an issue?” Ivan asked, expecting something sinister.

“Oh, um. It shouldn't be. You have many scars.” the other man supplied, looking relieved to spot an impatient Iceland by the door. With a quick “Good bye!”, the nation slipped away to join his friends. Ivan was unfettered at being abandoned so easily, lost in thought.

He glanced at his pale skin, marbled in some places from past acts of violence. He had always had scars, been ashamed of himself. Hiding behind scarves and sweaters and blazers, like a frightened turtle. Prison changed all of that. Daily inspections and lack of rights at the Arizona prison stripped all modesty away. Ivan no longer cared if he was naked or properly dressed. Clothing was just something other people needed to feel secure, even if everyone was animals inside.

“It's fine. You've always had scars. They're probably being weird because It's been a few years.” Alfred promised, patting him on the back. Ivan nodded, not sure of anything, and collected his papers. Ruined shirt slung over one shoulder, the ash blond followed Alfred into the small cafeteria.

Alfred entered the room, and he was greeted by the other nations. A few even exchanged high fives in friendly manner. Taking a breath, Ivan steeled himself. He could do this. He made plenty of friends in prison and he could do so here. Stepping into the room, the burly Russian offered a smile, however false it was.

Silence.

They were just staring again. It was like being inside an awkward pressure cooker. This being nice business was a waste of time like usual. Ivan sighed and turned to leave. Right then, Alfred stepped onto a table.

“Ladies and Gents come step and see Ivan Braginsky! He's savage, he's lean! He's done things you've never dreamed! Step right up and feel free to engage!” the energetic American announced for all to hear. Ivan hid his face and groaned. It was moments like these that the jaded Russian wondered how he had fallen for such a child.

“Shut up.” Ivan muttered. Hopping off the table, Alfred looped an arm around his back in platonic fashion so he couldn't escape. Incredibly, the stupid introduction seemed to kill the silence. As the other nations murmured, they gathered around slowly. Finally a normally oblivious Italy stepped forward, somewhat shy.

“Why did you get arrested?” the brunet asked.

“My government...” Ivan began, wondering what one could even say about such colourful events, the passions behind them. “They pushed me too far, took away many things. It resulted in a temporary leave of sanity.”

“You went loony and killed a bunch of people.” England accused from somewhere in the back.

“Yes. The American government was very unhappy.” Ivan confirmed dully. As more and more questions persisted, Ivan spoke between sips of sweet iced tea. The crowd still seemed slightly nervous in parts.

Germany seemed unimpressed, armed crossed in his thin football team shirt. “What will stop you from going crazy again, and killing us?” the burly pale blond demanded, accent thick. It made everything sharp and hilarious. How did anyone take the Germanic tribes seriously sounding like that?

Alfred plucked a pill bottle from his messenger bag, giving it a rattle. “These little mamas, and myself. I'm his legal guardian of sorts.” he volunteered, making several nations gape in surprise. Ivan remained impassively silent, feeling the stares again.

“You, his legal guardian?” “Is this a joke?” “How have you not killed each other?”

After the jeers and doubt, the freckled delight was still as proud as ever. “Yep. Under house arrest for three years now. Right bud?” Alfred continued, beaming as he kept touching to a minimum. Despite their deep love for each other, both superpowers were determined to keep it a secret. The world would flip it's lid if it discovered the former combatants in government imposed courtship.

Ivan nodded, unable to keep a true smile at bay. He was a much worse liar than most would believe, while Alfred could get away with bloody murder due to excessive charms. Truthfully the past three years had been wonderful, once you looked beyond being trapped.

A rather skeptical China sat directly across from Ivan, wary but not scared. The willowy male was almost too old to feel fear. “What is this?” he inquired bluntly, gesturing to Ivan's forearms. They were lined with faded white scars, in concise rings that stacked up to his elbow.

“Oh. Those.” Ivan murmured, letting unpleasant memories wash over him. “The last two years of Stalin's reign, I was not the most behaved. I was not supportive of Prussia's dissolution, and I knew how awful he would be as a state. I didn't want him as a state. After Katya was starved nearly to death, I was... upset. The soviet union was not becoming what I had wished for in 1917.” He explained, eyes glossy over just mentioning the brutal era.

“So, he sent me away. He wanted to know how immortal I was. The doctors chopped of my hands every day, then reattached them. Each time they cut five centimetres higher than the last. So determined to find my breaking point. After the sixth cut, I was angry. I broke free and tracked Stalin to his Dacha.”

At this point, the entire room listened with rapt attention.

Ivan let out a manic giggle, recalling that eventful evening in 1953. “I ripped out his heart and ate it in front of him. It was so much fun. I would have killed everyone else in the room, but the secret police shot me.” At the end, the Russian sulked. Alfred patted him on the back in supportive manner.

Ukraine, hiding from Ivan like usual, crept forward. She was looking well these days, despite her lagging economy. “You ate his heart?” she whispered, barely heard. Ivan nodded sagely. Her big blue eyes teared up as she walked over to Ivan's side. He wanted to reach out and touch, but she might scatter like the winds again. Everything he touched died or broke like that.

“Ivanushka, moya zvezda! You were a good little boy, just like I taught you!” She praised through thick tears. A dozen soppy kisses and cheek pinches later, Ivan was just loving all the attention. Big sister really was the only 'parent' he ever had, and losing her trust had crushed him. “Someone will bring my precious baby brother cake. He is nothing but skin and bones!” the unstable Ukrainian ordered, her mood shifting violently to one of wet eyed anger. When no one moved, she slammed her fist down on the wooden table and glared. It made a dull cracking sound. Belarus clued in, skipping over with a slice of cake from the cafeteria kitchen. She then proceeded to feed it to him while sitting on his large lap.

China watched the bizarre scene play out, shaking his head. Everyone else seemed confused or horrified. “You ate a human heart.” Spain echoed in disbelief. “He's like, crazy. He shouldn't be here.” Poland objected. “He's only here for the day. No harm folks.” Alfred promised in his own cute drawl.

With that strange conversation, lunch break was concluded. The rest of the meeting went off without a hitch. In no time at all the couple was back on their military escort to house arrest in America. Ivan was genuinely pleased with how well today ended, after all of the awkward moments finished up.

Sure, Alfred was truly inexperienced. It only made him a better person, soul not stained by tragedy. He had so much hope for the future. If Ivan followed his amazing grace and kindness, great things were bound to happen. Heart beating with emotion, the Russian hummed an ancient song that crystallized this moment in time.

_Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound_  
_That saved a wretch like me_  
_I once was lost, but now am found_  
_T'was blind but now I see._

_T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear_  
_And Grace, my fears relieved_  
_How precious did that grace appear_  
_The hour I first believed._

_Through many dangers, toils and snares_  
_We have already come_  
_T'was grace that brought us safe thus far_  
_And grace will lead us home._

_Amazing grace, How Sweet the sound_  
_That saved a wretch like me_  
_I once was lost but now am found_  
_T'was blind but now I see._

_Was blind, but now I see._

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see? Comment or leave a Kudos!


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